The Forgotten Princess
by Daring Dashwood
Summary: Link, searching desperately for the princess that cried for him in his dreams, grappling with the terrible, unexpected loss of his uncle, mistakenly stumbles upon a slumbering princess whose existence had been obscured by the thick mists of time.
1. Part 1: The Hopeful Youth

The Forgotten Princess

Part I: The Hopeful Youth

A/N – Some spoilers for Skyward Sword. Also, it is important to know that according to the official timeline, ALttP occurs after Link fails to slay Ganondorf in OoT.

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><p>The soldier died messily. The sword Uncle had given him was certainly well kept and cared for, but it wasn't quite sharp enough for Link to conclude the sideways slash he had attempted to execute: the blade was still firmly wedged in between several pounds of muscle and two sturdy ribs. Link lowered his foe to the ground—to allow the fully-armored man to clang loudly to the tiles would attract some greatly unwanted attention—and, after placing one booted foot on the man's blood-soaked chest, he clenched the sword's hilt with both hands and lifted. The blade slid out with a slight spurting sound, quickly followed by a new wave of lifeblood that pooled on the soldier's torso, the excess spilling over onto the floor.<p>

Link grimaced at the sight, clamped his hand to his mouth to staunch the bile. He quickly and carefully wiped his bloodied sword clean on a nearby silk banner hanging on the wall. Uncle often reminded him to always clean his blade after every battle, if possible, to stave off damage and rust, despite Link's protests that he would never need to wield a weapon of any kind, not in these times of peace.

_Uncle. _Link stifled the sudden wave of fear and sadness that assaulted him at the thought of his beloved relative. He could collapse later; right now, there was a princess in desperate need of his help.

So he pressed on, leaving the fallen soldier behind with his emotions as he descended further into Hyrule Castle. Eventually he arrived at fork in the road. After furtively checking for any cursed soldiers lurking around either corner and finding none, he unfurled the map he had pilfered.

Link frowned. The hallway to the right had not been drawn in; rather, the corridor neatly curved to the left, leading down to yet another staircase that led downwards even further into the depths of the castle. Why would the mapmaker not include this particular hallway? What could possibly be down there? Link backtracked a little, thinking perhaps he might've read the map incorrectly and thus thought he was in the wrong location, but everything else seemed to match up perfectly. Coming back to the fork, he debated on which path to take.

Princess Zelda had explicitly told him in the dream that she was in the very bottom dungeon of Hyrule Castle. But the curiosity was maddening. What could be down the right path? Shoulds and wants warred for dominance within his mind. He took a step towards the left, stopped short, pivoted, and started up in a light jog going in the opposite direction. He was just going to quickly check what was down the right hallway—if there even was anything—and then he'd be right back after the princess. It wouldn't take but a minute. It was probably just a forgotten storage room, anyway.

A plush carpet, its red hue dulled by age, picked up at the beginning of the hallway, coming to a stop right before the lone door at the end. It was a rather plain door for a castle of such royalty; it was smooth chestnut, with not a lone decorative carving to adorn it.

Link grasped the gilded doorknob, and he nearly choked at the resulting immense ripple of magic that washed over him. It was a protective ward, one that Link had read about before: it was an ancient design that had been abandoned by the court wizards for more advanced spells long ago. It paralyzed whoever activated it as it scanned the trapped being for possible theat. He could be left there for hours, days, _months_ even, depending on the caster's desire and strength. If he could have moved, Link would've kicked himself. How could he have been so foolish, walking into a trap like this? A cursed soldier would be upon him any moment. What would happen to the princess now?

It was old, but indeed still very powerful; he couldn't shake himself of it. He could only stand there stupidly, mouth agape, as the magic coursed through his veins and bled into his limbs, scrutinized the gray matter of his brain, tightened around his quivering heart.

Just as the chill of panic began to settle in his bones, the magic concluded its scan. Its caster must've deemed him worthy—the alien sensations squirming through Link's body faded, and with great relief he turned the doorknob and entered the room, his control over his limbs restored.

The room was small, seemingly constructed of the same white marble as the rest of the castle. It was bare of any furnishings, paintings, statues, anything at all, really, sans a single canopy bed at the furthest edge of the room. Lush red velvet drapes surrounded the bed frame, obscuring whoever, if anyone, that was resting from his searching eyes. Link drew closer, sneezing at the copious amount of dust that had settled everywhere.

Knuckles whitening around Uncle's sword, Link warily pulled the drapery to the side. A young woman was laying there, hands clasped over her bosom as if in prayer. She wore a beautiful pink nightdress—it looked to be silk—and reddish brown ringlets of hair curled around her small shoulders. The maiden's face was pale, waxen, as if she'd been denied the sight of the sun for all her life. It gave her an ethereal glow that only served to enamor Link further. With time, he imagined, he could love her. A curl of remembrance stirred in his breast at the idea.

With some alarm, Link could not see the steady rise and fall of her chest.

His hands reflexively darted out, shakily curling around her dainty one. She couldn't be dead. Not her. This was not the princess who called out to him in his dreams, and yet…and yet….he couldn't deny that they were connected in some manner. He'd only just gazed upon her beauty, and an almost immediate wave of nostalgia washed over him, as if he had known the mysterious young woman for years—as if she was an old friend, that this was an old love waiting ever patiently to be rekindled.

He couldn't lose her.

He _wouldn't_.

The worry gnawing at Link's stomach dissipated as he felt a sluggish yet steady rhythm pulse from her cold wrist. She was alive. She was _alive_.

Coming back to himself with a shake of his head—how could he let her beauty inundate his senses like that, there's no way that true love could bloom so quickly and sweetly—Link quickly repositioned her hands, awkwardly skimming her breasts in his haste. Strangely enough, she did not awaken from her slumber at his ministrations. Very strange, actually. Who, exactly, was this woman? Why would she not stir? Why was her dusty, barren room guarded by powerful magic cast long ago? Who would want to shield her from the world? And why?

Link, forgoing his normal manners, began to jostle her shoulder in earnest. "Miss, wake up. Please, you must—"

"It's no use, child."

Heart leaping into his throat, Link whirled around to face the speaker, brandishing his sword in what he hoped was a threatening manner. But it was not a cursed soldier that greeted him; rather, it was an old woman.

She did not look well. The few grey wisps of hair that remained looked as if they'd come out if one merely touched them. The beginnings of fat folded under her trembling chin and the bare bit of arms that peaked out from her brown cloak. Said arms were mottled here and there with black spots of decaying flesh. She gazed at him with exhausted, yet determined eyes that were sunk deep into her weathered face. When she crossed the room to join Link by the young lady's bedside, she did so slowly, with stooped shoulders and creaking bones, as if every small movement of her weary form brought her great pain.

"Put that thing away, child," The woman clucked disapprovingly, pointing one shriveled hand towards his blade. Link sheathed it at once.

"It's no use," she repeated, wheezing slightly. "Princess Zelda was cursed many, many years ago by an extremely powerful magic to slumber forevermore. There is but one way for her to ever awaken."

"What is it?" Link demanded. "Tell me, and I'll do it. I don't care how dangerous it is."

"It is not a matter of your dedication or courage, child. It is not yet time; you are not the one fated to save her."

"What? But—"

"You needn't concern yourself with this matter. The Princess Zelda you seek is further down into the dungeon's depths. If you make haste now, you should still get there in time."

Link glanced to the open door, than back to the woman who was supposedly a past princess, torn.

"What if the one fated to come never shows? Will she lie here eternally, trapped in her mind forever? I can't be at peace knowing that she is to suffer so!"

The old woman upturned the crevassed flesh of her lips upward into a smile; a few teeth were missing. "You're a very kind lad. But your anxiety over her is superfluous. The destined one will come, in time. Now go, Link. You have dawdled long enough here. Rescue your princess before it truly is too late."

_"__Save the Princess...Zelda is your..."_

"_Uncle, no, please, don't leave me!" _

Gritting his teeth in despair, Link at last relented. "I will return, I swear it," He declared fervently, as he backed out of the room. "Once this is all over, once peace is restored, I _will_ come back for her."

The old woman merely smiled at him again, neither accepting nor refuting his claim.

As Link ran, descending down, down, down, he realized he hadn't caught the elderly woman's name. After a few more steps he recalled bewilderedly that she had addressed _him_ by name, even though he was sure he had not given it. Those tired eyes had gazed at him with unsettling familiarity, similar, he imagined, to how he felt when he gazed upon the maiden. How? Why? Oh, he wished Uncle were here. He could have explained who the old woman was and how she knew him, and why the sight of a long forgotten princess made his heart ache and his very soul weep.


	2. Part 2: The Embittered Old

The Forgotten Princess

Part II: The Embittered Old

AN: Not entirely satisfied with this ending, but I would rather finish it up poorly and move on to better fics at the moment.

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><p>Impa had just settled into the moth-eaten downy of her bed when mental alarm bells blared a klaxon song. Her defensive trap for the princess's room had been sprung. A sigh wheezed out of her body. It had progressively taken her longer and longer every evening to find a position that didn't cause her a part of her body to protest at the pain—and naturally, just as she managed to adjust herself as comfortably as was possible, some fool thought it would be fun to stir up a little trouble. Skin folded over her eyes as she concentrated on the caught aura. It wasn't a soldier; Impa could discern that immediately; it was too small, too pure. She strained her magic to dig deeper, scan the body even closer. The princess's room had not been disturbed for ages. Believing her to be safe and secure for a minimum of two or three generations, Impa abandoned the lower rooms that festered with Agahnim's soldiers, taking refuge in a small secret chamber behind some moldy bookcases. Now she knew that she had had a burst of stupid optimism at that time; of <em>course<em> something would go wrong with the princess's chamber.

Blood leaked from her nose; Impa dashed it away on her sleeve, pushing harder and harder with the magic. A young man, alone, average build, and—

The answer clicked into place so suddenly and forcefully, she staggered backwards.

"The hero has returned." She retracted her mental tendrils at once, setting the lad free. It certainly would not do to immobilize the hero in the thick of such danger.

She knew that she must join him down in the depths of the dungeon. To walk would be suicide. Thus, although her body protested every step of the way, she used teleportation magic to arrive right outside the room's entrance in but a moment.

Link did not turn from the bed to face Impa. She doubted the boy had even heard her arrive, so she sagged against the wall, wiping the sweat from her forehead on the cold stone. When she had recovered well enough to manage simple conversation, she shambled into the room.

The hero did not stir from the princess's side even then—had he still not heard her? A faint concern stirred in her breast. If this Link did not learn to focus himself soon, he might not see the end of his journey.

The boy started to shake Princess Zelda's shoulder, coaxing her to awaken. "Miss, wake up. Please, you must—"

This was wrong, all wrong. It was not yet the time for this princess to awaken. If Impa did not hurry this conversation along, this Link's Zelda might be slain.

"It's no use, child."

Link whirled around to face her, eyes blown wide with fear. Well, _that_ managed to catch his attention, at the very least.

Impa then came to the bedside to asses Zelda's condition. As she had assumed, even close contact with Link did nothing to disturb her sleep. Only then did she notice that Link was still brandishing his sword. His form was terrible.

"Put that thing away, child." Obedient as always, Link sheathed it.

"It's no use," Impa reiterated. He needed to go. Already he had seen more than he was supposed to. She could've allowed the spell to keep him paralyzed until she arrived, but the risk of his possible discovery by the enemy was too high.

"Princess Zelda was cursed many, many years ago by an extremely powerful magic to slumber forevermore. There is but one way for her to ever awaken."

"What is it? Tell me, and I'll do it. I don't care how dangerous it is." It seemed that although the contact did not affect the princess, it certainly altered the boy. Not good, not good. Link needed to offer his soul to the Zelda in the basement, not this one.

"It is not a matter of your dedication or courage, child. It is not yet time; you are not the one fated to save her."

"What? But—"

"You needn't concern yourself with this matter. The Princess Zelda you seek is further down into the dungeon's depths. If you make haste now, you should still get there in time."

The boy was indecisive. Her patience was gnawed at by a growing irritation.

"What if the one fated to come never shows? Will she lie here eternally, trapped in her mind forever? I can't be at peace knowing that she is to suffer so!"

"You're a very kind lad. But your anxiety over her is superfluous. The destined one will come, in time. Now go, Link. You have dawdled long enough here. Rescue your princess before it truly is too late."

He tensed, coming to a decision. "I will return, I swear it. Once this is all over, once peace is restored, I _will_ come back for her."

He wouldn't.

He wouldn't, but she smiled anyway as he left, because the boy could only handle so much before he toppled with the weight of his issues.

Impa waited until the dust that was disturbed in the hero's wake settled before turning back to her charge. Not even a small twitch had passed her features throughout the entire disturbance; Zelda's face was smooth, calm, content: the epitome of peace. Fortunate child.

Impa lingered for a moment, then closed the curtain on the sleeping beauty before shuffling towards the door to redo the seal.

The magic wouldn't come at first. It cracked and sizzled against the leathery pads of her fingertips, but it would not extend any further. She drew deeply of her ever-depleting reserves and forced the magic out with a grunt. It stuck this time, thank Din. She wasn't so sure she could've mustered up enough energy to attempt it again.

Impa sank to the floor, wiping off the liquid effort that had beaded on her crevassed face. She faintly recalled a time when she was youthful, strong, awe-inspiring. An age that was truly obscured by the mists of time; no one today could ever comprehend life in the sky.

She had been happy to serve the Goddesses, then. Now she was just tired.

She wondered when the Goddesses would finally conclude her servitude. A lifetime had never been not enough for them. They stretched the years of her original life until the Temple of Hylia had began to crumble, vines invading the walls, shoots of grass and moss sprouting between the brickwork. She watched over Lady Hylia for centuries, waiting for the first hero to arrive, bright-eyed and naïve, desperate to find his love. As she waited ever so patiently, with nothing but her own mind for entertainment, they robbed her of youth, strength, beauty, even height, her back developing a permanent slouch with the increasing weight of her years.

And this was alright, this was expected. When the reunion betwixt Link and Zelda at last came about, Demise finally vanquished, albeit not before cursing the former's descendants, Impa was finally permitted to rest, her soul exploding outward from the rotted, useless lump that was once her body.

Impa believed that would be the end of it; yes, as she died, she even thanked the goddesses for their kindness. But she was abruptly jerked back from the welcoming embrace of death, and instead thrust into the life of a different young Sheikah girl who shared her name, dedicated to serving and protecting the royal family at any cost. It was then that Impa came to a sickening realization: the Goddesses would not allow her to crumble into dust and memory until Demise's curse ended; until Link could live a normal life, uninhibited by destiny; until Zelda no longer needed to be protected.

A splinter of fear had been driven into her heart at the thought. Only the Goddesses could possibly know when the curse would at last be extinguished by time, when the Gerudo boy's roots of immortality and power were finally cut. The cycle couldn't possibly go on for all eternity, could it?

When the Hero of Time reawakened to set out on the second half of his journey, hope once again stirred in her breast. The "second" Link had confronted and sealed away the wind mage Vaati, and let it never be said that the lad was nothing less than valiant in his efforts. But Vaati is but a speck on a flea on the titanic boar that is Ganondorf. However, when she saw the Hero of Time, she knew that even the mighty and powerful Gerudo King could find himself at the receiving end of the Master Sword. Though undeniably soft-spoken, the Hylian had true presence, an aura about him that could never be accurately labeled or pinned down, but just simply _was_. Embedded in his eyes was a firm promise, a promise to avenge every slight, every tragedy, every horror that Ganondorf inflicted upon the people of Hyrule. And Impa allowed herself to be swept up by his presence, emboldened and assured by his quiet strength. The Hero of Time could be the one to end Demise's curse once and for all. Instead of simply sealing the wretch away, postponing the confrontation once again, this Link could end it all. He was courageous by nature, had gained wisdom through his innumerable trials. And one need only look at the young man to feel the power trembling just below the surface.

So when the final confrontation between hero and villain began, Impa had the audacity to sit and watch the bloodbath from a rock formation just outside Ganondorf's castle. She just sat and watched, like a peasant at a play, as they dueled upon the wreckage, as her calm crumbled into despair as the Master Sword was knocked from Link's grip and engulfed in flame, as Ganon's blade splintered the boy's shield and rent apart his flesh and she realized that he had never truly been as powerful as he seemed was it all in her mind was it just wishful thinking why did this happen she was so sure he was the one how much longer must she toil when would it end when would it

Then for a time there was nothing to do but wait, to sit and watch as evil again choked the land, as the forces of light struggled to achieve an uneasy equality with their opposite. Nothing to do but bumble around the slumbering princess until she could divert her attention to the birth and raising of yet another Princess Zelda. And she would watch over the princess, they would play the same games every time, and Impa would always sing the same lullaby, over and over and over and over and over again.

Had Impa disobeyed the Goddesses somehow? Is that why they forced her to watch child after child after child be slaughtered as she herself grew older and frailer, progressively more and more unable to help them when they needed her the most?

She was sick of it. Sick of the perfect and pious Zelda, the ignorant and cheerful Link, the pigheaded and cruel Ganondorf. Sick of it all. She was sick of these same three people who tore and shredded shredded and tore at her nerves until they were pulp they were nothing she can't so sick _she's had it_

Impa was sick. Impa was tired.

Impa directed her eyes skyward.

"When will it end?"

Her plea rang throughout the hall.

Unanswered.

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><p>-Fin-<p> 


End file.
